


The Wingman

by GalacticDavey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith doesn't know how to deal with feelings, M/M, Spooky shenanigans, also there's a ghost, especially when they're mutual, it's Too Real, the movie theater au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDavey/pseuds/GalacticDavey
Summary: Keith has just started a new job at his local movie theater, and is looking forward to the relative peace and quiet that will come with being "behind the scenes" and running the projectors.Of course, with a hot, snarky coworker and rumors of a ghost, there's very little chance for any kind of "peace."





	The Wingman

**Author's Note:**

> Maddy, I have no idea how this happened. It started as a silly idea and then it got away from me, so I hope you like it. XD

Keith’s first day at the Rising Sun Theater was simultaneously the same as any first day at a new job, and also stranger than any first day of anything he’d ever had.

 

His job wasn’t difficult—primarily, he was in charge of the projectors, which didn’t require much upkeep. All he had to do was keep an eye on them, make sure the movies started on time, and make sure the projectors were turned off at the end of the night.

 

“Occasionally,” his boss, Allura, had said to him with a wry smile, “you might have to change one of the bulbs, but they’re very long-lasting, so that probably won’t happen any time soon.”

 

Ultimately, it was a pretty boring job that nobody else wanted to do—Keith didn’t particularly  _ want _ to do it either, but money was money. No sooner had his interview ended was he passed a stack of paperwork for payroll and a ring of keys for the projection booths.

 

She ran him through how to turn on and shut off the projectors, how to manually start a film if it didn’t begin playing at the correct time, and had walked him through each of the booths (and made sure that the projectors in the shared booths were labeled carefully, just to make sure fucking anything up would be as difficult as possible).

 

“The booths tend to get pretty warm as the day goes on,” Allura explained, “so don’t feel like you have to stay in there all day. As long as you pop in to check on them when the next show is about to start, you have free reign of the place.”

 

“And really, we’re very glad to have you,” she had continued. “We’ve been having a hard time keeping this position filled.”

 

He raised his eyebrows at that. “Really? Why’s that? It seems like an easy enough gig.”

 

Allura looked a bit startled, as if she’d said more than she should have. “I think it’s just a bit too boring for most. A lot of time in the dark, you know.” Keith had nodded along, because he could certainly understand that, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot more to it than a little boredom.

 

The day went by, and Keith let it pass as he fiddled on his phone in the projection booths, hopping from one to another as each movie started. The booths were dark, and they  _ did _ get hot as the day wore on, almost stiflingly so. He ended up setting alarms for himself, in case he dozed off in the dim warmth.

 

He was heading to turn off the projector in booth two once the last show had ended and everyone had filed out of the theater, a single dim bulb flickering overhead as he made his way back to the projector.

 

Then he heard a voice.

 

“ _ There is a house in New Orleans… _ ”

 

Keith paused, peering into the shadows to try and make out who was there. His heart thrummed in his chest.   
  
“ _ They call the Rising Sun… _ ”

 

He crept toward the singing, trying to bring up his phone’s flashlight with shaking hands.

 

“ _ And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God I know I’m _ —oh, hello there!”

 

Keith reeled backward, tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his ass. A tall man emerged from the dark, a box propped on his hip. He smiled, somehow both smug and bashful at the same time.

 

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“I’m not—you didn’t,” Keith protested lamely. “What are you even doing back here?”

 

He brushed his braid over his shoulder, jabbing a thumb behind him. “Sorry, just restocking. We use some of the booths for storage. You must be the new projectionist, then.” He held out his hand, and with a slight pout, Keith accepted it. The man pulled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. “I’m Lotor.”

 

“Keith.”

 

“I’m one of the closing supervisors,” Lotor explained. “So if you need anything between six o’clock and twelve-thirty, I’m your man.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Keith ventured, though he thought nearly having a heart attack was about as far from  _ nice  _ as one could get, but there was a time for honesty and a time for pleasantries. “So, uh, stock huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Lotor groaned. “Technically it’s concessions’ job, but…” He trailed off with a tired shrug. “How’s your first day been?”

 

Keith shrugged as he made his way to the projector and put it on standby for the night. “Pretty boring, honestly. In and out of the booths all day.”

 

Lotor gave him a look he couldn’t quite read, but he seemed almost...sly. “Anything strange happen?”

 

“What do you mean by ‘strange?’” Keith asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

 

“Mm, nothing in particular, really. Just wondering.” He shifted the box in his arms, smiling pleasantly. “Well, I should go get this stuff put away. Talk to you later.”

 

“Sure,” Keith replied, watching him as he left, still humming that song.

 

There was definitely something weird about this place.

 

***

“It’s ghosts.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes, burying his head even deeper into his book to ignore his roommate. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“I’m serious, there are so many rumors about the Sun being haunted,” Lance continued, draping himself over the back of the couch and resting his chin on Keith’s head. “I’m not surprised you haven’t heard about it, though. You’d have to actually  _ socialize _ for that to happen.” Keith swatted him away, grumbling under his breath. “You said you do closing stuff? Like, after everybody is gone?”

 

“Yeah, most people,” Keith replied on a sigh (Lotor crossing his mind briefly) and gave up on getting any further in his book that morning. “Why?” Lance was rubbing his hands together deviously, and Keith really,  _ really  _ wished he hadn’t asked.

 

“We could have a  _ séance _ ,” Lance said, wiggling his fingers. “ _ Commune _ with the  _ spirits _ .”

 

“And why would we want to do that?”

 

Lance shrugged, flopping across Keith’s lap. “I dunno. Seems cool. Aren’t you into spooky shit?”

 

“ _ No _ .”

 

“But you’re like, directly out of a Hot Topic catalogue.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Why, because I’m not a frat boy or a nerd?”

 

“Nah, but you’ve just got that... _ aura _ .”

 

“My aura is  _ Hot Topic _ ?”

 

“No, just gloomy and spooky.” Lance yelped when Keith shoved him off his lap. “Rude.”

 

“You insulted my aura.”

 

“Well maybe if your stupid aura didn’t  _ suck so bad—” _

 

Hunk peeked in from the kitchen. “Hey, guys, have you considered  _ not _ doing this today? I finally got this soufflé recipe right but you are making her  _ sad _ . She’s going to fall.”

 

“Sorry, Hunk,” they grumbled in reply, Lance pulling himself back onto the couch with a slight pout. “For real, though,” he continued, “you’re the only person I know, like, on the  _ inside _ . You’ve got to tell me if anything spooky happens.”

 

Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes again. “I’ll keep you posted.”

 

He would not keep him posted. Because there were definitely not  _ ghosts _ at the theater.

 

***

“Oh, there are absolutely ghosts,” Lotor scoffed as he wiped down the concessions counter. Keith could only stare blankly.

 

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

 

“Well, look,” Lotor raised his hands placatingly. “I, personally, have only experienced a few...weird things, nothing that I can solidly say was ghosts. But I’ve had to deal with a fair number of scared moviegoers.”

 

“See, I was just starting to like you, and now you’re talking to me about  _ ghosts _ and  _ hauntings _ , and I’m like, man, this guy is not as suave and smart as I initially thought.”

 

He was only half-serious. If he were honest, Lotor had become welcome company on the long nights at the Rising Sun. Keith found himself looking forward to the quiet of the hours near closing time, to Lotor’s snark and teasing, the way his lips curled and lids dropped to half-mast like a relaxed cat—but that was a dangerous path to begin treading. Sure, Lotor was witty, and tall, and strong, and  _ really _ handsome, but that didn’t mean Keith had to  _ think _ about it all the time. It didn’t help that he was almost  _ devastatingly _ beautiful in a high ponytail, which he’d been wearing a lot more often lately. Maybe he’d noticed Keith staring.  _ Ugh _ . And  _ no one’s _ hands should look that good dripping with melted butter, how could he keep his thirst in check? Keith actually looked  _ forward _ to butter machine malfunctions (and malfunctions of all kinds happened frequently behind the concessions counter). It also didn’t help that the other concessions workers would snicker whenever he stopped by to chat between checking on the projectors, or that Lotor was lingering longer in the booths while restocking at the end of the night, or that sometimes they would just sit together in the warm dark of one of the booths and talk, until Keith remembered himself and tore himself away to take care of the other projectors.

 

But he wasn’t developing a crush. No way.

 

“Don’t be a brat” Lotor replied smoothly, smiling as he leaned on the counter. “A few ghosts can’t change the fact that I’m  _ suave _ and  _ smart _ , can they?” Keith feigned a groan and rolled his eyes. Fueling Lotor’s ego was always a bad move.

 

“Just give me a slushie, you dweeb.”

 

Lotor snorted a soft laugh, making his way to the slushie machine as dramatically as possible. He didn’t even need to ask what flavor Keith wanted, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Cherry, for the cherry bomb.” The nickname sent a delighted little shiver up his spine, one he did his best to stifle with a big gulp of his slushie. It was impossible to fall victim to warm fuzzy feelings when he had brain freeze.

 

***

 

“Keith.”

 

Keith hummed, turning to the door of the booth. “What?”

 

“Were you asleep?” Lotor chuckled, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat next to him on the floor. Keith glanced at his phone—he'd been dozed off for about fifteen minutes.

 

“Maybe a little,” he replied, stretching. “This is the last movie of the night. Just waiting for it to wrap up.”

 

“Fair enough,” Lotor nodded, laughter still in his voice. “Are you tired?”

 

“Just bored.”

 

“Good thing I showed up, then.”

 

“What, so you can tell me more  _ ghost stories _ ?”

 

At that moment, a chill settled over the projection booth, cold enough that goosebumps rose on Keith's skin.

 

“Did you feel that?” He asked, shrinking against Lotor’s side without thinking about it.

 

“Yes,” he responded, calm as ever, though Keith could see him shivering as well. “Are you scared?”

 

“N-no. Are you?”

 

“A little. Let’s wait in the hallway.”

 

It was much warmer out there, incidentally, and Keith immediately began making a list of reasonable, logical explanations for the temperature difference.

 

“You know I hate to say ‘I told you so.’”

 

Lotor’s smile said otherwise.

 

“Then don't,” Keith replied. “Besides, a  _ draft _ doesn't mean  _ ghosts _ .”

 

“Mmhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

 

“There’s no such thing.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“You’re talking about ghosts! You don't get to be smug!”

 

Lotor only laughed, even when Keith socked him on the arm (though he was laughing, too, by then).

 

“I'm sick of you!”

 

“Now now, Cherrybomb,” he purred, still entirely too smooth given the circumstances, “you don't mean that.”

 

Keith refused to admit that he was right.

 

***

 

“You know, a normal person would just ask him out.”

 

Keith immediately froze, hovering behind the corner next to the concessions stand. It wasn't eavesdropping if he just… _ happened  _ to overhear the conversation, right.

 

What he heard was mostly Lotor choking on a mouthful of popcorn and Pidge cackling.

 

“He might be cute,” Lotor finally managed, “but I think he might kick me in the head if I tried.”

 

“He'd have to reach you first.”

 

They couldn't be talking about him, right?

 

“And he definitely wouldn't. Everybody here’s seen you making googly eyes at each other.”

 

“ _ There are no googly eyes _ ,” Lotor huffed. Keith could practically  _ hear _ him blushing.

 

“ _ De Nile _ isn't just a river in Egypt,” she snarked back—probably rolling her eyes. “You should really see yourself. Also:  _ Cherrybomb _ . You really couldn't be more obvious.”

 

Oh, God, they were totally talking about him. Lotor thought he was  _ cute _ .

 

He didn't know it he wasore pleased or terrified.

 

“And he totally likes you, too. Neither of you are subtle.”

 

There was a pause.”What do you mean?”

 

“He looks at your butt a lot.”

 

He wondered how much it would cost for NASA to just launch him into the fucking sun.

 

He didn't get to dwell on it too long—he was shoved out from his hiding spot by hands so cold they had him shivering. When he turned around, startled, there was absolutely no one there.

 

He turned frightened eyes to Lotor, whose obvious embarrassment morphed into concern when he saw the look on Keith’s face.

 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, practically climbing over the counter to peer around the corner at whatever had Keith so thoroughly freaked out.

 

“I think something just pushed me,” he admitted quietly, and Lotor's eyes immediately snapped back to his face, trying to read something hidden there.

 

If he knew Keith had been listening in, he didn't say anything.

 

***

 

Keith was exhausted—the days had been dragging by, and peering around every corner before darting from booth to booth wasn't helping matters. He only had one more projector to take care of that night, and then he could go home and wrap himself in a blanket burrito of shame. The trick was to just keep an eye out for—

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

 

Keith flushed, clearing his throat as he stepped onto the escalator. “N-no.”

 

He really hadn't been. Or, at least, he hadn't  _ meant _ to—he just needed to think, but he supposed the end result was the same on Lotor’s end either way.

 

“Is it because you got bullied by a ghost?” Lotor asked, draping himself over the escalator railing. Keith spluttered.

 

“ _ No  _ it is  _ not _ .”

 

It was mostly because now his silly little crush was reciprocated, and therefore less “silly.” He didn't know what to do. Should he talk to Lotor about it? Ask him out? Just plant one on his stupid, handsome face?

 

Without any real idea of how to act, he thought the best option was to…not. He just had to steer clear for a little while, until he’d figured things out, and if he noticed Lotor looking sad and dejected over the last week since he'd overheard him and Pidge talking, well…

 

He did his best to just ignore it.

 

“Is it because Pidge told me that you look at my butt?”

 

Keith’s face went supernova.

 

“You  _ were _ listening!”

 

“I didn't  _ mean _ to!”

 

Lotor had the decency to at least  _ try _ not to laugh. “Didn't mean to eavesdrop, or check out my ass?”

 

He glanced away, stepping off the escalator and scurrying to the nearest booth door, fumbling with the key to unlock it. “...Eavesdrop,” he admitted, grumbling. “Don't you have work to do, or are you just going to humiliate me all night?” He didn't mean for it to come out quite as snappy as it did, but, well. He was already struggling enough with this stupid crush—he didn't need to be made fun of by said crush on top of that.

 

Lotor’s face softened then, smile fading. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I approached this all wrong.” Keith eyed him as he shut down the projector, trying to look as haughty as he could, given the circumstances, and waited for him to continue. “The thing is, I've erm...grown pretty fond of you, the last few months.” He was blushing, Keith could tell even in the dim light. “And I thought maybe you were feeling the same. But even if you weren't, that was fine, things were still— _ good _ . So when you stopped talking to me I thought maybe I'd…” He stopped short, at a loss for words for the first time, at least that Keith had ever seen. “Messed things up, somehow?” Lotor huffed, carding his fingers through his hair, embarrassed, or frustrated, or both. “I didn't mean to corner you. I'm sorry.”

 

Keith relaxed a bit, and sighed. “It's okay. And it's...it's not you.” He felt that icy touch on him, though this time it was gentler, just a nudge. He still shivered. C’mon, this room’s giving me the creeps.” He made a point of grabbing Lotor’s hand and pulling him from the room, ignoring how hot his ears were getting.

 

As soon as they stepped into the upstairs lobby, the lights all went out, leaving them in near-darkness—near, except for the blue glow of the neon sign pointing them toward the restrooms.

 

“...How can the neon stay on when the power's out?”

 

“It can’t,” Lotor answered, clearly just as baffled as Keith. Suddenly the sound system kicked back on, as if to further prove that this wasn't a normal power outage.

 

_ You’re just too good to be true... _

 

“Oh my god,” Keith groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

 

_ Can’t take my eyes off of you... _

 

A chill settled around them, and they collided less than gracefully.

 

“Did you feel that?” Lotor laughed, nervously, hands on Keith’s shoulders to steady them.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Hey.” Gently, Lotor took Keith’s wrists in his hands, guiding them away from his face. “Are you scared?”

 

He forced himself to meet Lotor’s eyes, which looked bluer than ever in the neon glow. “A little bit.” His voice was hardly a whisper.

 

“Me, too,” Lotor replied, just as quietly. “Keith, can I…?” He hesitated, and Keith decided that he wasn't going to wait for Lotor to ask. He grabbed the front of his apron and tugged him forward, rocking onto his tiptoes to meet him halfway in a kiss. It was short, and a little clumsy, but it still had Keith’s heart thudding away in his guest like a Phil Collins drum solo. When he pulled back, Lotor blinked his eyes open, dazed.

 

“I was going to ask if I could take you to dinner sometime, but this works, too.” Keith huffed, cheeks flaring up once more, and lightly punched Lotor’s arm. He grinned, and was about to drag Keith into another kiss when the lights buzzed back to life, leaving them bewildered again.

 

“I think our local spook is satisfied with their work,” Lotor quipped, and gave Keith a smile like he was  _ daring _ him to argue. He wanted to. He really, really did, but he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.

 

“Guess if we’re going to have a ghost, it may as well be one that can’t mind their own business,” he conceded with a slight scowl. Lotor laughed, full and loud.

 

“That looked  _ painful _ for you to admit,” he said, still chuckling.

 

“It was!”

 

Lotor raised his eyebrow, smirking devilishly. “Want me to kiss it better?”   
  
He was about to do just that when the loudspeaker crackled to life.

 

“No canoodling in my lobby,” Allura deadpanned.

 

...They’d forgotten about the cameras. “I don’t think you know what that word means,” Keith mumbled, ears bright red. Lotor just chuckled, a bit sheepishly, and nudged Keith’s shoulder.   
  
“Come on, Cherrybomb. We’re all done anyway, let’s get out of here.”

 

That night, Keith left the Rising Sun hand-in-hand with Lotor, beaming the whole way.


End file.
